


Obligatory Post-Time Travel Drinking

by secretlyasummers



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 14:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretlyasummers/pseuds/secretlyasummers
Summary: After the All-New X-Men finish up their first giant cross-time adventure, Rachel Summers takes the teenaged version of her dad out drinking.





	Obligatory Post-Time Travel Drinking

Little known fact: Cyclops is really, really good at video games. Seriously, between the mutant power of exceptional geometry, and a singlehanded devotion to getting things right that will drive him to do whatever it is over, and over, and over again . . . Scott is really, really good at video games. Which is why Scott and Bobby’s Call of Duty tournament was currently reaching it’s eleventh hour with no clear winner. All of the Blue team had gathered in the basement of the Madripoor mansion, spectating and commentating (and occasionally bringing in snacks) as the hours had passed. Even Magneto had wandered through. Admittedly, all he had done was comment that he thought that it was very poor combat training, but still, y’know. He was there.

Bloodstorm (alternate universe teenaged vampire Ororo, yeah, it’s complicated, there’s no way around it) frowned. “I fail to see why you’re still doing this. Do you not want to sleep?”

“Mmblrgh.”

“The indecipherable mumble that our ice-based comrade here is trying to say would presumably be something like,” Hank mimed being hunched over holding a controller. “I totally have to prove to everyone that Scooooooottt is toooootally laaame. And then presumably something about how I, _the Iceman_ , am better then Cyclops in all ways.”

Jean giggled slightly. “You forgot how the rest of us are harshing his vibe, or something.”

“Bblrgh”

“That’s right, Scott. Bobby does have an over-inflated sense of . . . Jean can you telepath for me? I’m afraid my Scott-translation skills are less adept then my ability to comprehend the youngest of our gang.”

“Gotcha.” Jean flipped her hair back and did the whole head to forehead thing. “’Over-inflated sense of his computerized combat ability.’ Oh, Scott, you beautiful square.”

“Can’t you all finish with this already?” Warren grumbled as he sat on the edge of the couch. “I liberated a Playstation 8 when we did that whole time travel thing, and I want to see the next fifteen seasons of Game of Thrones.”

“Frglsmrgiz.”

Hank swung up. “If I must translate once more, I believe Bobby is threatening to follow you and Wolverine, and then just freeze everything. I believe some pointed references to specific elements of your anatomy were involved.”

“C’mon, man. The danger room here doesn’t have a usb hookup. And I’ve talked to Danger, she doesn’t have any either.”

“Warren,” Jean raised her hand. “You don’t just interrupt the battle of the titans, here. It’s like the Beatles versus the Stones, or Lebron versus Jordan.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little over-enthusiastic here?”

“Battle. Of. The. Titans.”

“Fine, fine. But I expect to be able to have a quality bingewatch when this is over, Jean.”

“HA! Finally! Boom! Owned, Scottie boy, owned!” Bobby dropped the controller and did a bit of a dance. “Yeah, I won, you all saw it! Official champion of Madripoor’s Mutant Call of Duty scene, right here. Jean, Hank, the honors.”

Hank somersaulted down and offered an elaborate mock bow. “Of course, your illustriousness. Madame, if you would assist me?”

A bit of telekinesis, and they lowered an elaborate paper-machae and glitter crown onto Bobby’s head. “Your badge of office, sir.”

A crash of falling objects interrupted the banter. The mood soured instantly. “Form up, guys.” Jean barked out the orders. “On me. Warren, Ororo, soon as we get up those stairs, get airborne. Ready?”

Bobby and Scott pushed away the controllers, and the team moved cautiously into combat stances. “On my mark. Three. Two. One . . . mark.”

The Blue team sprinted up the stairs out of the basement, combat ready. Bloodstorm and Angel flew up, while Iceman and Cyclops readied themselves to fire. Sentinels, demons, assassins – whatever threat it was they were ready for it.

Which made it a bit surprising when all they saw was Polaris hugging someone. The powers flared and were readied to fire, bolts of fire and telekinesis coalescing and -

“Guys, wait, wait, stand down!” Lorna stood in the line of fire, waving them down. “Wait! Don’t shoot everyone who tries to enter the mansion.”

Jean lowered her hand and shrugged, dismissing the pink power signature. “Sorry. To be fair, that is the proper response to like, half of the things that do enter the mansion. You were having guests?”

“Hey, baby momma.” Rachel Summers waved from behind Polaris. “I was dropping by, saying hi to Aunt Lorna. Is that a capital crime now?”

Warren rolled his eyes. “I’m going to go watch my Game of Thrones. Ororo, Hank, Bobby, c’mon.”

“Ignore him,” Jean waved him off. “Sorry, Polaris. We’ll get out of here, sorry to be a pain.”

“Actually, if you don’t mind. . .”

Lorna gave Rachel a glance.

“I was hoping to borrow Scott, if you don’t mind?”

Polaris shrugged. “If you’d like. Scott?”

Cyclops pulled off his visor and slipped on his glasses. “What for?”

“Traditional post-first-trip-to-a-dystopian-future drinking binge.”

“How long has this been traditional, Rachel?” Polaris looked at her quizzically. “This wasn’t a thing when I was running with you all.”

“It’s a tradition as of- “she checked her watch “-three minutes ago.”

Jean waved him on. “Go, Scott. Bobby will still be here for you to trounce when you get back.”

“Thanks, kiddo.” Rachel winked. “C’mon.”

Scott sorta wandered forward with a bewildered expression on his face. “I guess . . . Is there a car, or something . . .”

“I travel in style, Tyke Dad. Out the door, move it.” She kissed Polaris on the cheek. “Nice seeing you, Aunt Lorna. Keep an eye on the kids for me.”

“You’re always welcome, Rach. Don’t lose Cyclops, if you don’t mind.”

“Course.” Rachel half-pushed, half-lead Scott out the door. “Hold on.”

“To wha- “

The Phoenix effect flared, and Rachel flew them both high into the air. They arced out of Madripoor, heading up into the upper atmosphere,

_Hey, not to be ungrateful, but we have a perfectly good Blackbird._

Rachel pulled a spin, looping and turning as they curved back towards Earth, this time heading down towards North America. She sent a burst of glee and fun across, psychically, laughing telepathically.

_I told you, I travel in style, Dad. There hasn’t been a Blackbird invented that is half as fun as flying under your own power._

She extended another raptor talon, holding Scott tight, and looped again, almost childishly happy.

_Just, don’t take your time, please? I’m told that I have bad history with firebirds._

Rachel did the telepathic version of an eye roll but evened out her course towards Manhattan. They flew on, a half hour or so more, making telepathic small talk and the occasional maneuver or trick in flight. It was more or less the same stuff that the elder Cyclops and the Rachel usually talked about – combat tactics, tactical issues, nothing really of any consequence whatsoever. It was simply meaningless blabber, filling the time to avoid talking about the things that mattered.

The two landed in Washington Square Park, Rachel sending out a low-level telepathic pulse to make people not notice the large flaming bird landing in the center of Manhattan. Those generally aren’t exactly subtle.

“Well,” Scott grabbed a bench as he regained his balance. Slowly. “I’m going to be honest, this isn’t exactly my favorite way to travel.”

Rachel shot him a look. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, no. Just dizzy. Gimme a minute.”

“You’ll learn to like it, don’t worry.” She adopted a voice. “I hope this hasn’t put you off flying. Statistically speaking, it’s still the safest way to travel.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Superman.”

“Pro-tip, Dad: It’s one of Jean’s favorites. Movies, that is.”

“If you say so.” Scott shrugged his shoulders and stood up. “You said something about a bar? You know I’m by no means of a drinking age?”

She cocked her head at an angle with a half-smile. “Right. Do you have a card of some sort?”

Scott dug out his wallet. “Uh, I’ve got a library card? It’s been expired for twenty years, now.”

“It’ll do. C’mon. Act confident, Tyke Dad.” They left the park, walking across the street, then a block and a half down an avenue to the left. The bar was low-key, a set of stairs going underground and a door, with a single small neon sign. “Hold this, please?” Rachel shucked off the red leather longcoat, and handed it to Scott.

“That’s probably good. Good enough, at least. Uh, look old, I guess?”

Scott looked at her quizzically. “How, exactly, do you expect me to do that?”

_Just do it_.

The two walked down the stairs. The bouncer extended his hand, in the universally recognized request for ids.  “Right.” Rachel handed Scott’s library card, and a playing card she grabbed from her back pocket. With a half-smile, she waved her hand lightly. “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.”

“Funny,” the bouncer grunted. “Go ahead.”

“Telepathy?” Scott said quizzically.

“It was that or bribe the guy, and we don’t actually get much of a salary at the institute.” Rachel pointed to the back. “C’mon, go get a table. I’ll buy some drinks.”

“Right, should I-“

“Just sit down, Dad.”

Rachel went to the bar, while Scott found himself a table, as requested. He moved like he would in battle, keeping an eye on the other patrons, one hand free to move his glasses, the other holding Rachel’s coat, folded in front of him. A lifetime of X-Menning doesn’t wear off easily, and there’s a point where every new situation because a potential fight.

He swung into a booth, placing the coat neatly by his side. Scott swept the bar visually, looking for threats as he waited. His fingers tapped an incessant tattoo on the table, nervous. He hadn’t talked to Rachel that much, nor Cable or X-Man at all, really. Scott . . . listen, all three of them were fine people, or so he was told. But the little that Scott did think about kids, he had hoped that time-traveling resistance fighter from the future wasn’t really to be on the agenda. He couldn’t imagine that Jean thought differently. And, well, if there was ever a sign that someone was going to be together, literally meeting your kids . . .

“This is for you.” Rachel swung into the seat across from him and slid a shot across the table. “These are for me.” A whole bunch more shots of her own remained.

“Shouldn’t we start with something a little, uh, less strong?”

“Dad, we can’t possibly start the newly traditional post-first-trip-to-a-dystopian-future with something less than the most fun.”

“We might define that word differently, Rachel. . .”

“Ray.”

“What?” Scott asked.

“Ray. Call me Ray.”

“Right . . .”

Rachel picked up the first shot. “You made it, Dad. You’ve done your mandated X-Men time-travelling. Well, for the second time, but this is the first time it counted, I think.”

Scott raised the glass. “Should we make a toast or something?”

“Nah.” She clinked her glass against his and drank it in a single gulp. “Go on.”

The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat. “Ah! That burns. That’s – ah, that’s really, really something.”

“That’s sorta the point.”

Scott played with the glass, moving it from one hand to the next. “Rachel . . .” He turned it upside down, then back up again. “Listen, why are we really doing this?”

She slid another glass across the table. “Drink.”

“But I-“

“Drink.”

Rachel raised another shot of her own, and they drank at the same time. “Sometimes things are just what they seem. I wanted to talk, and you guys just foiled a bunch of” she waved her hand vaguely “nefarious future folk.”

“But not from your future. Or Bishop’s, or Cable’s, or Hope’s.”

“Right. Does Magneto not do a class about the history of the future?”

“We’re still stuck on the history of the present. Your past, I mean. Our future. This present.”

Rachel shrugged. “The terminology gets confusing, yeah. At least you came the fun way, though. It was very, very hard keeping Beyoncé secret for all those years. Same with the Star Wars movies.”

“That’s more Hank’s speed then mine.” Scott relaxed, slightly. “He made us do a whole bingewatch of all the movies like the second, third day after we got here. He was very disappointed. Bobby and Warren and me, less so.”

“And Mom – Jean, I mean?”

“Fell asleep in Attack of the Clones.”

She grinned. “That seems right. No joke, one of my favorite parts of each of me and Bishop and Cable coming from different futures is that we all have different Star Wars prequels. None of them like the ones we got. Though Bishop says that this iteration is the better then the ones he had, so, y’know…”

“He really is from a terrible dystopian future.”

“Right!?”

Scott’s mouth twisted in what, in some circumstances, in the right light, could be called a smile. “Number one thing to do when we get home is to go and get the Phantom Menace changed in pre-production.”

“Oh, watch out!” Rachel waggled her fingers menacingly. “You never know, it could be that Jar Jar Binks is only the thing preventing the rise of the evil dictatorship of, oh, Mesmero or something.”

“I’m sure Bobby would have some sort of witty name for it.”

“Days of Future Binks?”

“I was thinking the Age of Binkspocalypse, but that works as well, I suppose.” He leaned out of the booth. “Can you get us a couple more drinks?”

Rachel put up a hand, flagged down a waitress. “Last ones for you, Dad.”

“Really?”

She shrugged. “I promised Lorna I’d bring you back in one piece. And at this age I can drink you under the table. Honestly, I’m pretty sure your Jean can drink you under the table.” She held up a finger before Scott responded, as the waitress came up. “Four shots, please.”

Scott leaned to the left, a bit, as the waitress walked away.

“Dad!” Rachel smiled delightedly. “Are you _checking her out_?” Scott didn’t respond, and Rachel’s smile grew.

“What?” Scott looked defensively. “I’m not with Jean or anyone, and I’m just looking.”

“Hey, I’m not faulting you. Cute butt and all. Just, isn’t she a bit old for you?”

“Right, right.” The girl came back and dropped off the drinks. Scott passed two of the shots to his erstwhile daughter to be. “I’m not quite as much of a drinker as you apparently are, but here’s to, ah, to-"

“To talks we should have had earlier?”

Scott shrugged. “Sure.”

They both drank simultaneously, Scott sipping it first while Rachel finished it in a single drink.

“You’re less terrifying then I expected.”

Rachel leaned back. “Didn’t you all run with X-23 and with Magik? Those two aren’t exactly huggable.”

“Yes. But . . .”

“Was it the spikes, or the leather?”

He waved his hand vaguely. “The face tattoos.”

Rachel took her last shot. “Don’t like talking about it. And it’s closer to scarring. Besides, it’s the glowing Cable-style eye that’s _chic_ these days, if you’re looking for something in that vein.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got that well in hand, actually.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Scott sipped a bit of his drink. (This isn’t the way that you drink a shot, and it took a lot of self-control for Rachel not to wince.) “This . . . thank you, Rachel. Ray.”

“Of course.” Rachel’s smile was genuine. “Now, let’s see if we can borrow that Playstation from Angel. I can take you any day.”

“Not a chance, Ray. Besides, I’ve been practicing all week. How do you think you can beat me?”

Rachel winked as she stood up. “Telepathy. I cheat.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't hesitate in dropping a comment!


End file.
